


The Royal Roast

by phoenyxhawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:47:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenyxhawke/pseuds/phoenyxhawke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A modern day AU where the Warden (Rowan Cousland) is a down-on-her-luck police officer. This is her first encounter with Leliana, a barista at the local coffee shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Royal Roast

When Juliet left, she took everything with her. Rowan owned the house, but all of the trappings that made the place a home belonged to Juliet. Rowan didn’t help her pack. Instead, she sat on the back porch with her German shepherd, Reese, staring at the white picket fence that bordered her property. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her police uniform, but it was too hot to stay buttoned up. So she wore it open, exposing a plain white tank top underneath. A cigarette dangled from between her fingers. She quit six months ago. She struck up a flame in her lighter, lit the little deathstick, placed it between her lips, and inhaled.

Something crashed inside the house, and she glanced over at the window. The curtains stretched diagonally, half up and half fallen, partially blocking the view. Juliet stood behind them on a stepstool, perspiring and glaring up at the curtain rod. Rowan exhaled and flicked her cigarette. Ash sprinkled on Reese’s nose. He looked up at her accusingly.

“It’s just one,” she assured him.

He didn’t seem convinced.

It was just after twilight when Juliet’s boxes were all tucked neatly into her moving van. Max, Juliet’s best friend, peered out from underneath a nest of brown hair tucked into a trucker hat. Juliet banged the metal door down then chained it up with a heavy padlock. She walked around into the driveway and wiped at her forehead.

“That’s everything,” Juliet confirmed.

“Got you covered. Meet you in twenty,” Max said. She nodded at Rowan. “See you around, Row.”

Rowan grunted. They both knew she wouldn’t. Max hit the gas and drove out of sight. Rowan watched the back of the enthusiastically educational UHAUL truck. 

‘Do you know the names of all five of Earth’s oceans?’ it asked.

Rowan ticked them off in her head. There was the Atlantic, Pacific, Arctic…

“Row, really, smoking again?” Juliet said.

Rowan stared down at her black shoes. They shone. She made sure of that every morning when she polished them. Juliet sighed. Rowan felt Juliet’s hand on her elbow. Her touch was gentle and therefore immensely painful. 

“You take care of yourself, okay?” Juliet said.

Rowan pulled her arm away, but she did not look up. 

“You really should think about talking to someone, you know?” Juliet continued.

Rowan kept her eyes down. Juliet sighed and wrung her hands. She was always like that when she was nervous. Fidgety. 

“Don’t be like this. I still want to be friends. I care about you. I just can’t –“

“Stop.”

“Fine,” Juliet bit down hard on the word. “If that’s how you want it.”

Juliet loaded herself into her red mustang convertible and slammed the door. Rowan heard the striking of the ignition, a screech of tires, and the hum of the engine receding.

This wasn’t how she wanted it. Not at all. 

 

That night she didn’t sleep. Par for the course, really, for any cop. Circadian rhythms were something civilians got to enjoy. More and more, though, Rowan’s sleep wasn’t cut short by work. Not directly, anyhow. It was the nightmares. Red handprints on the wall. Distant screaming. A gun aimed up into a chin. Shouting and crying and camera flashes. 

She was haunted in her waking hours too. More than once, she’d been triggered off and stepped back into her memories, trapped in waking nightmares until they’d run their course. Usually she was safe around the house until she tried to sleep. Anxiety was a coward and waited until she was asleep to strike. The night Juliet left she opted to stay up until she couldn’t keep her eyes open anymore. She microwaved the only thing left in the fridge – leftover lo mein – and shoveled it into her mouth as she flicked mindlessly through Netflix. 

 

She picked up a shift the next day, knowing that she’d need something to occupy her mind. She’d arrived at the precinct with Reese, ready to track down some drug dealers, when she was suddenly switched to traffic. She spent the rest of the morning standing under a blinking green traffic light, waving and whistling while motorists growled from behind their windshields. The day wasn’t complete, however, until a self-important jackass in a midlife crisis tried to run her over. He earned a withering glare when his bumper tapped her knee. She held his lane specifically for an extra four minutes. 

Break was a welcome reprieve. She jettisoned the highlighter yellow vest into the backseat next to Reese. Her usual spot, Charley’s Diner, was nearby, but she just wasn’t feeling it today. She ran through the list of quick eats in the area, and none of them held any appeal. Rowan stared at her white-gloved hands on the wheel. 

“What do you say we do something different today, Reese?” 

Reese barked. 

“Right? We could use a little change.”

 

The Royal Roast was a French café and bistro. Rowan passed it many times on her patrols but never had reason to step foot inside. She pulled into the parking lot, fed Reese a treat, and led him out onto the sidewalk. Passersby and patrons watched her curiously as she set him just outside the door and commanded him to sit and stay, which he did without question. 

The line was long. Rowan took this as a good sign and dutifully filed in behind an elderly gentleman. The Royal Roast wasn’t as pretentious as she feared. It was actually kind of charming and homey. A cheerful hearth lay dormant under the soft lighting of the ‘antique chic’ lanterns. Pinned upon the corkboard were various notices – among which were flyers for lost dogs and cats, a clarinet tutor, book clubs, and a church sponsored festival. 

A blonde thirty-something man with a sagging gut spotted her uniform, pointed at her, and loudly proclaimed to his teenage son:

“Oh no, they’ve finally found you, Chris! They’re coming to take you away!”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, forced a smile, and nodded. There was always one. 

As the line progressed and Rowan approached the glass case, she eyed the line of beautiful pastries, muffins, and cakes. These weren’t the usual cronuts and bagels. Individual layered cakes, crème brulée, éclairs, petit fours, and decadent cupcakes called from the display case. They were so meticulously made it would almost be a shame to eat them. Almost.

All of them contained way more sugar than Rowan promised herself she’d consume today. She eyed a chocolate muffin mournfully. Would it really hurt to have just one? Didn’t she deserve it after all she’d been through today? Most of them were kind of small, anyway. But then, she really should stop --

“Good morning, officer,” a gentle voice said.

Rowan snapped out of her torpor and looked at the cashier. She had an accent that Rowan couldn’t place, but sounded somewhat French. She was young, mid to late twenties with just enough red hair to pull back into a short, high ponytail. It shone like the silver cross necklace she wore. When she smiled, it was like a cozy fire on a cold winter’s night. 

“Oh,” Rowan began. She fumbled for coherent thought and glanced up at the blackboard suspended behind the cashier. The menu was done in colored chalk and framed with illustrations of flowers.

“What’s the strongest brew you’ve got?”

“Ah, feeling adventurous? The strongest roast we have is the Dragon Roast. It is my personal favorite. But I will warn you, it is very dark, and not many can handle it,” she said, still smiling.

Her eyes were blue and as sharp as they were soft. Rowan could feel them on her face even when she wasn’t looking. 

“I’ll give that a shot,” she said, peeling a few crisp bills out of her wallet.

The cashier punched a series of buttons on the cash register. 

“Would you like anything else?” she asked.

Rowan willed herself not to look at the chocolate muffins behind the glass. Instead, she smiled tiredly back at the woman across the bar. 

“And a croissant. That’s all. Thank you.”

“You are quite welcome, _cheri_.”

Rowan’s French sucked. It was basically comprised of a few viewings of Beauty and the Beast, Phantom of the Opera, and the words ‘oo la la’. Even so, thanks to the Looney Tunes, she sort of knew ‘cheri’. It was some kind of term of endearment that Pepe Le Pew always said to his conquests. 

Rowan handed her a ten and told her to keep the change. When she smiled and thanked her, Rowan tipped her hat slightly. She leaned against the counter to await her order, hoping to be able to casually glance toward the register as she did, but her cup of coffee and croissant plunked down on the counter almost as soon as she’d gotten comfortable. The café workers were efficient. She’d give them that. 

Rowan walked outside, called Reese to her, and sat down on a remarkably uncomfortable wrought iron chair. She could already feel the circle-patterns imprinting her skin. She placed her cup on the matching table. Reese slumped down next to her, and she frowned at her fare. The croissant was fine as far as flaky bread in the shape of a crescent went, but it was profoundly unappetizing now that she’d seen what else she could have had. 

Picking the first browned layer off the roll, she stared into space and allowed her coffee to cool. Reese whuffed quietly and licked his lips before drifting off. The sun would be brutal today. She could already tell. For now she was shielded from its rays by the beige umbrella that stood in the hole in the middle of the table. Without thinking about it, she found herself staring down at her engagement ring. It made her think of Juliet, which it was meant to do. It also made her heart ache, which was the opposite of what it was meant to do. She wondered if maybe she should take it off. 

The door tinkled musically, and the red-headed cashier stepped out into the sun. She shielded her eyes and found a spot at a table across from Rowan. She opened up a paperback whose cover featured a raven and the title: “Essential Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe”. 

When she seemed lost in her reading, Rowan snuck glances at her. At her long, slender legs crossed under the table, the sunlight burning gold highlights into her hair, and the strands in her eyes that she didn’t seem to mind. Reese whined in his sleep and began to kick. He raked his nails against the sidewalk and worked his leg until Rowan scratched behind his ear. When she’d satisfied his itch, he wound back down into his dreams. The cashier looked up at him with a fond smile. 

“He is adorable. What is his name?” she asked.

“Reese,” Rowan said.

“He looks so peaceful, don’t you think?” 

“Don’t be fooled. He’s a beast.”

“Of course he is. It takes great strength and courage to wear the badge, even if one is a German shepherd.”

Rowan smiled lightly and sat up straighter. Her hands encircled her mug. 

“I’m Rowan.” 

“Leliana.”

She looked at Rowan, directly, openly, without a single thing to hide. 

“That’s a pretty name,” Rowan said. “Unique.”

“Ah yes, yours is quite common. I meet all sorts of people named Rowan.”

Rowan smiled down at her coffee.

“Touché,” she said.

Leliana’s voice was beautiful, that was for sure, but more than that, it was the way she spoke to Rowan that made her feel at ease. Most people gave her a wide berth. They feared, respected, and hated the police. Most people only saw the uniform. It was nice to be spoken to like she wasn’t a bogeyman in blue sent to arrest everyone for imagined infractions. 

She tilted her head toward the book of poems. 

“Who’s your favorite poet?” Rowan asked.

“Hm. It’s so hard to choose, really. But if I had to…” 

She tapped a finger at the corner of her mouth as she thought. It was a casual gesture, but it glued Rowan’s eyes firmly to the light shimmery curve of her lips. 

“Guillaume Apollinaire.”

Bingo. She had no idea who that was, but that was definitely French. 

“Now it is only fair if you tell me your favorite poet as well. If you have one, that is,” Leliana said.

“I guess Lord Byron,” Rowan said.

“This is one I have not heard of, but now I am sure I will soon enough.”

They exchanged the polite smiles of two barely acquainted strangers, and Leliana went back to her reading. It was a shame she stopped talking. Rowan picked up her mug and took a drink of her coffee. She immediately regretted it. It tasted like a shallow grave. Her first instinct was to spit it out, but there was no way she could do that elegantly. Instead, she hacked and choked the molten steel down her esophagus. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Rowan coughed. 

Leliana covered her mouth and tried to contain her laughter.

“I am sorry. I did warn you,” she said, eyes sparkling. 

“Yeah,” Rowan coughed, weakly. “Tastes like the apocalypse. Going to need a pound of sugar.” 

Leliana put her book open-and-face-down on the table and grinned.

“That will only make it taste like sugar-coated death.”

“That’s no good. I prefer my death sprinkled with cinnamon.”

This made Leliana laugh again, which almost made drinking hellfire worthwhile. The door chimed and out stepped a dark-skinned woman with a restrained look of exasperation.

“Leliana, it has been over fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, yes, Josie, I am coming.”

Josie glanced at Rowan, smiled prettily, and then returned to the café. Leliana rolled her eyes dramatically.

“Now I must return to duty. The people sorely need their coffee and pastries. It cannot wait another minute or they will surely perish.”

“Thank you for your service,” Rowan said with a light smirk.

Leliana smiled and beckoned her to follow.

“Come. Let’s replace your coffee with something slightly less volcanic,” she said.

Ordinarily, Rowan would have declined, but she was starting to like this change of pace. She stood and followed the barista inside. Leliana ushered her to the front of the line and exchanged her Dragon Roast for a much more pleasant mocha latte. Hovering over the glass, Rowan lusted after the éclairs. 

“Who makes all of these?” she asked.

“I do,” Leliana said.

Josie shot her a look.

“Josie helps. Sometimes.”

“May I have an éclair to go? I insist on paying for it,” Rowan said.

Leliana opened her mouth to argue, but Josie’s admonishing stare shut it.

“Of course,” she said.

Rowan pulled out her debit card with an apologetic smile. Josie bagged her éclair in a cute purple paper bag as Leliana gave her the receipt. Rowan moved to the side so that the line could go ahead while she signed it. Two customers later, she finished, and she handed it back to Leliana. Busy with an order, Leliana placed it down on the counter.

“Thanks again,” Rowan said, holding up her bag. 

“Please come again,” Josie said.

 

Later that night, Leliana wiped down the counter as Josephine went through the register. 

“Oh, Leliana, look, there is something written here,” she said.

Josephine held up a receipt as if she were studying an ancient scroll. 

“I already told you, if you can’t read my handwriting, I will handle it,” Leliana said, exasperatedly. 

“No, it’s from that woman, the… policewoman?” Josephine said.

Leliana snatched it from her. Josephine stood on her tiptoes to read it over her shoulder. 

The Royal Roast  
Date: 04/19/15  
Your Server: Leliana  
1 x Éclair $3.50  
Sub Total: $3.50  
Tax: $0.38  
Total: $3.88  
Card Number ************1225  
Expiration Date: 12/15  
Merchant ID 2033139  
Visa Sale: $3.88

Written neatly underneath this in blue ink:

She walks in beauty, like the night  
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;  
And all that’s best of dark and bright  
Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Josephine’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, how wonderfully romantic!” she clasped her hands together excitedly.

Leliana regarded the handwriting with an amused ghost of a smile. 

“It is, isn’t it?”

“It’s a shame you can’t pursue anything,” Josephine remarked.

“And why not?” Leliana said.

Josephine stared at her as if she didn’t understand the question, blinking and bewildered. 

“You know we cannot do such things. We will not even be here for very much longer.”

“Oh Josie, if she even comes back, what’s wrong with having a little fun?” Leliana flipped her hair. “It’s not as if I’m going to marry the girl.”

“You are positively terrible,” Josephine said, closing the register.


End file.
